"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Roadside Picnic (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Redrick took a last drag and put the butt in his matchbox.
"Don't be a jerk, Buzzard. We can't go straight through town. There are
three roadblocks. We'll get stopped once for sure."
"So what?"
"They'll take one look at your feet and it's curtains."
"What about my legs? We were fishing, I hurt my legs, and that's that."
"And what if they feel your legs?"
"Feel them. I'll yell so loud that they'll never try feeling a leg
again."
But Redrick had already decided. He lifted the driver's seat, flashing
his light, opened a secret compartment, and said:
"Let me have the stuff."
The gas tank under the seat was a dummy. Redrick took the bag and
stuffed it inside, listening to the clinking and clanging in the bag.
"I can't take any risks," he muttered. "I don't have the right.
He put the cover back on, covered it up with rubbish and rags, and
replaced the seat. Burbridge was moaning and groaning, begging him to hurry,
and promising him the Golden Ball again. He twisted and shifted in his seat,
staring anxiously into the growing light. Redrick paid no attention to him.
He tore open the plastic bag of water with the fish in it, poured out the
water over the fishing gear, and put the flopping fish into the basket. He
folded up the plastic bag and put it in his pocket. Now everything was in
order. Two fishermen coming back from a not very successful trip. He got
behind the wheel and started the car.
He drove all the way to the turn without putting on the lights. The
vast ten-foot wall stretched to the left of them, hemming in the Zone, and
on their right there were occasional abandoned cottages, with bearded
windows and peeling paint. Redrick could see well in the dark, and it wasn't
that dark any more anyway, and besides, he knew that it was coming. So when
the bent figure, striding rhythmically, appeared before the car, he didn't
even slow down. He hunched over the wheel. He was walking in the middle of
the road--like all of them, he was headed for town. Redrick passed him from
the left and speeded up.
"Mother of God!" Burbridge muttered in the back seat. "Red, did you see
that?"
"Yes."
"God! That's all we need!" Suddenly Burbridge broke into a loud prayer.
"Shut up!" Redrick shouted at him.
The turn should have been right around there somewhere. Redrick slowed
down, staring at the row of sinking houses and fences on the right. The old
transformer hut, the pole with the supports, the rotting bridge over the
culvert. Redrick turned the wheel. The car tossed and turned.
"Where are you going?" Burbridge wailed. "You'll ruin my legs, you
bastard!"
Redrick turned around for a second and slapped the old man's face,
feeling his prickly stubbled cheek. Burbridge sputtered and fell silent. The
car was bouncing and the wheels slipped in the fresh mud from last night's
rain. Redrick turned on the lights. The white bouncing light illuminated
overgrown old ruts, huge puddles, and rotten, leaning fences. Burbridge was
crying, sobbing, and snuffling. He wasn't promising anything any more. He